


Warriors, the Strategist

by cerame



Series: Heist AU [3]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward interviews, Found Family, Gen, Getting Framed, Guns, Heist AU, Homelessness, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Wars is a criminal now, almost forgot to tag guns, briefly, whooP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25339009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerame/pseuds/cerame
Summary: Link Garrison was, in short, destitute.Naturally, he asks a friend for help. He did not expect to be recruited by a criminal crew, but he wouldn't give them up for the world.
Series: Heist AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777966
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	Warriors, the Strategist

Link Garrison was, in short, destitute. He was honorably discharged from the military too early for his tastes due to a squadmate turning traitor and stabbing him in the shoulder. He was unable to serve, but he still wanted to protect and serve, so he went into security. He did phenomenal in training, and he was hired at the local museum. It paid well enough, even if the stares from the curator left him feeling deeply uncomfortable and somewhat violated.

Then, of course, it all went to hell. He walked into some sort of contraband deal--he didn’t even have all the details--and got framed for indecency, essentially putting an end to his entire career.

So now he wandered the streets, picking pockets and begging for spare change to get enough money to eat. At the moment, he had a few quarters in his pocket because he had a plan. He might have to sacrifice a day of food, but this could get him out of his situation. He knew his old friend had… questionable connections, but if anyone could help him, it was her. He slotted the quarters into the payphone (he was kind of shocked those still existed, but hooray for him) and waited for the phone to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Zelda. It’s me, Link. I… I need a favor.”

* * *

Artemis eyed her old friend carefully.

He arrived at her suite in dirty clothing with messy hair and smelling… less than desirable. She forced him into the shower, gave him a proper haircut when he got out, and called someone to get some real clothes for him, but at the moment, he was wearing a too-small shirt and a long skirt. She made some tea, got him some food, and sat him down at the dining table.

“You want me to get you a job?” she asked.

“I’ll do anything,” he said. She bit back a wince at that answer and instead pursed her lips.

“Be careful with what you say,” she warned him. “Anyone worse than me would use that against you.”

“I’m serious, Zel,” Link insisted. Desperation gleamed in his eyes. “I need--I can’t do this anymore. I need to make a living somehow. I… Please, I’m begging you here.”

Artemis closed her eyes and thought. She wanted to help her friend, but she really didn’t want to involve him in the mafia. She’d have to treat him harshly to avoid accusations of favoritism, and her colleagues would have to do the same if he was hired under any of them. Besides, he was too free to work under mafia rules. He had his morals, and he worked by them. He would get himself killed if he worked for the mafia, if only because he’d do what he thought was right, and she didn’t want to be responsible for that.

Oh, but maybe… maybe he’d do better in a smaller group. More freedom, more agency, more morals.

“I… have an idea,” she admitted with a sigh. “You’re really willing to do anything?”

“Yes,” he said. There wasn’t a trace of hesitation in his tone.

“Even crime?”

“Crime?” he asked. His face twisted into a dismayed but resigned frown, and Artemis felt her heart go out to him. Still, he did say anything. “If that’s what it takes, then yes--but I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Then I might have a solution for you,” she said. “I’ll need to call someone, but until I get an answer, you can stay with me.”

“I-I couldn’t possibly pay you back.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I would be a burden.”

“Don’t even try to guilt-trip me into putting you in debt,” she scoffed. Link blushed and looked away, his hands fidgeting around his cup. “I won’t even hold this job search as a debt against you. Just don’t be a jerk under my roof, and you can stay here as long as you like.”

He mumbled something, and Artemis decided to assume that it was an agreement.

“By the way, I’m getting you clothes,” she added. “I’m not having you walking around in my clothes _or_ in those rags.”

“What… What job did you have in mind, if it works out?” Link asked instead of arguing. He never did win their arguments. Smart boy.

“There’s a small crew,” she explained. “New, only three members. They haven’t been named yet, but at this rate, they’ll be getting enough attention that they’ll need a name. I hear that the leader is an old face in the criminal underground and an old friend of a colleague of mine.”

“Who?” Link asked.

“I don’t think you’d know him.”

“I did my research when I went into security. If he’s got a reputation, I’ve heard of him.”

“Hm… if you’re so sure,” she mused, “I hear he goes by Time these days.”

Link paled.

“T-Time?” he squeaked. “As in, the conqueror of Majora?”

“The very same,” she answered. She couldn’t deny that she found his panic kind of funny, but… it wouldn’t do either of them any good if he kept fretting. “Look, don’t worry about it. He’s not some ruthless killer, or my colleague wouldn’t have anything to do with him.”

“I probably shouldn’t ask, but what do you even do for a living?” Link questioned. His shoulders were hunched, his brow pinched in a frown, his eyes flickered over her--his nerves must be going haywire.

“In the daytime? I help manage the marketing branch of CastleTown Inc.,” she said, “but my real job is running the mafia.”

Link went bug-eyed and proceeded to choke on his tea. He took a moment to swallow so he wouldn’t spray it out his nose. Unfortunately. It would’ve made a mess, but it also would've been funny.

“The mafia?” he coughed. “You’re mafia?!”

“Mhm,” she nodded. “The colleague I refer to goes by Lullaby. I trust you won’t tell anyone.”

“No, of course not!” Link said, eyes wide. “I’d be dead if I tried.”

Artemis smiled. He was a smart one, at least. She was well aware that he was framed, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it for now. As for what she _could_ do…

She needed to make a few calls.

* * *

Link did his best not to look nervous, but he wasn’t sure how well he was doing. He wore the t-shirt, jacket, and jeans Artemis had gotten for him, but he kind of wished he had something a little smoother, a little flashier, if only to give him a bit of faux confidence.

Much to his surprise and Artemis’s satisfaction, her colleague had gotten a confirmation and a date and location for a meeting with Time himself. Link was nervous, of course. He was also nothing short of terrified. Now, he was sitting in a quaint little cafe, the bustle of the city loud enough to hide their conversation but still quiet enough that it wouldn’t be hard to hear their words.

Across from him sat a man and a teenager, both with blond hair, blue eyes, and scars. The man had a scar running from his eyebrow down to his cheekbone, keeping his right eye shut. His gloves were tucked under his belt, and somehow, he managed to make flannel and jeans intimidating. Maybe it was the boots? Probably not, since they were under the table. The teenager, on the other hand, had longer, lighter blond hair tied back in a ponytail. His hoodie was a bit too big, drowning his frame in blue cloth, and the angry burn scars wrapping around his left side sharply contrasted with his indifferent, relaxed body language as he slouched in his seat and tapped away at his phone, not sparing Link a glance.

“So,” the man--Time, undoubtedly--said, “why do you want to join us? The honest reason.”

“I… I’m really not doing so well, and I need a job,” Link admitted, looking away. He wrung his hands under the table. “I really need a job, and Z--my friend offered to help me, so… here we are.”

“How sure are you that you want to do this?” Time asked, his eyes piercing into Link’s soul. “We can’t have traitors in our ranks who will turn us in as soon as the going gets good for them.”

“I don’t like traitors, myself. I’ve dealt with too many,” Link said honestly. “I really do want to do this, though. Crime isn’t my first choice, but… if I can work with a team and help people, then I’ll do it.”

“And where did you hear anything about us being helpful?” Time questioned, lifting an eyebrow. It took all of Link’s willpower not to squirm under his gaze.

“I--um--my friend mentioned that you have almost no casualties on heists,” Link said. “I’ve done my own research, too. There are patterns to your heists--There are so many extra steps, and all they serve to do is make things more difficult to pull off right. It _has_ to be on purpose.”

Time sat back in his seat, seeming satisfied with his answer. For a long moment, he said nothing, and Link fought the urge to fidget with his hands. The teen finally looked up from his phone to stare at Link, and Link nervously wondered if he had overstepped.

“Are you, like, an analyst or something?” the teen asked, earning a look from Time, who he completely ignored.

“Kind of?” Link said, taken aback. “I’ve always had a mind for strategy, I suppose. I like-- _It’s beneficial_ to be able to predict what someone will do, so you can prepare for it.”

“Do you think you could confuse those like you, who might try to figure out our next plan?” Time asked.

“Yes,” Link nodded. Crime and being homeless? He didn’t know much about that, but strategy? Strategy, he could do. “Absolutely.”

“Hey,” the teen said, leaning forward with an odd gleam in his eyes. “What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Yeah, your name.”

“My name is Link,” he said. “Link Garrison.”

The teenager’s face split into a wide, toothy grin, laughter dancing in his eyes, as he looked to Time, who just closed his eyes and sighed… though, the corners of his mouth tugged upward.

“Come on, Time,” the teenager giggled. “Do it, do it, do it, do it, do--”

“Ok! Ok,” Time said, laughter spilling out. “Fine! You win the bet.” He turned his smile to Link. “Well then, Link Garrison, welcome to the Chain. My name is Link, this is the gremlin who lives at my home, Link, and later, you can meet my son, Link, though he goes by Twilight these days.”

Link blinked once, then twice. Then, as everything clicked together in his head, he groaned and lowered his head to the tabletop, dying inside and wishing the earth would swallow him whole as Time and the teenager laughed at his misery. Twenty-three years of life, and this is where it got him--homeless and desperate enough for a job that he goes into crime only for his entire life to turn into a pun because, apparently, criminals are childish.

…

It _was_ kind of funny, though.

* * *

Two days later, Link found himself dropped off at the end of the driveway of a ranch. On his back sat a backpack filled with his meager belongings (courtesy of Artemis) and the knife he kept on him at all times sat securely in his back pocket. He took a deep breath, then walked up to the door and pressed the doorbell.

“Hold on!” came a voice. Sweet, feminine, a comfortable country twang.

Link shifted uncomfortably. Time and the teenager Link had been fairly friendly, but he had no one what anyone else was like. He slowly exhaled, praying for the cool air to soothe his nerves.

“Hi--oh, you must be Link!”

Link blinked at the woman before him. Brilliant red hair and warm brown eyes greeted him. She was maybe twice his age from the looks of her, but she aged well, and from the curve of her forearms alone, Link could tell she was one strong woman. She could probably throw him across the ranch with one hand.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

“There’s no need fer formalities here,” the woman laughed lightly. “You can call me Malon. My husband and the boys are out with the horses. Come inside, make yerself at home!”

She beckoned him inside, and who was he to say no?

He stepped into the house and walked back to where the living room was. The house was filled with a heavenly aroma, and as he sunk into the couch cushions, Link decided that, though he had never been here before, this felt like home. It wasn’t neat or tidy in any way, and the blankets on the couch weren’t plush and soft like the ones Artemis had, but they were worn and well-used. This entire house was lived-in and loved. It was comfortable.

“Er, ma’am--I mean, Malon?” Link spoke up, realizing something. Malon stopped in the doorway and turned back around to face him. “Where should I put my bag? I don’t really have anywhere else to stay.”

“Oh, Time did tell me that,” she hummed. She turned and started down a hallway. “Follow me, hun. I’ll show you the guest room, though you’ll have to share with Wild.”

“Wild?” Link asked, standing up to follow her.

“He and Time went to talk to ya,” Malon elaborated. “Fer yer interview?”

“Oh.”

“Here,” she said, opening a door at the end of the hall.

Beyond the door sat a small room with a single bed and belongings strewn across half the room. On the other half was an air mattress, already blown up and made with a pillow and blankets. Next to it, against the wall, was a dresser, and next to that was a window.

“It’s not much, but it’s all we’ve got,” Malon sighed. “Sorry, hun.”

“It’s perfect,” Link assured her. He gave a small smile to prove he wasn’t lying and walked over to the mattress. He set his backpack down, leaning it against the mattress. This was more than he had before, and that was fine.

“Well, dinner should be ready soon,” Malon said. “Feel free to explore the house or watch TV in the living room. The boys should come inside soon.”

As if on cue, a boom sounded in the distance. Link jumped. That was no gun. That _had_ to be an explosion.

“What was that?” he whispered.

“Wild,” Malon said casually with a firm nod. Link realized that this would be his everyday life from now on. “He’s been experimenting with explosives recently. The boy’s a real natural.”

“Is that how he got his scars?”

Malon’s proud smile fell, replaced with a frown, and Link began to backtrack.

“I mean, that was out of place. I--”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she said, cutting him off. “My son found Wild like that on the side of the road, and when he woke up, he couldn’t remember anything but his name.” She brightened up, then, though her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be in the kitchen if ya need me.”

With that, she turned around and walked back down the hallway. Link sighed and looked at his side of the room. He might as well get to unpacking, then.

* * *

One awkward dinner later, a heist was planned. One surprisingly successful and chaotic heist later, complete with no casualties and six separate explosions, Link Garrison was dubbed Warriors by the rest of his crew.

 _His crew_.

The idea still sent him reeling. He wanted to be in the military, and then he worked in security, and now, he was a criminal. He did crime now. He had a team he did crime with, and that team somehow managed to both function like a well-oiled machine and like a duck trying to swim in alcohol.

As chaotic as it was, he kind of liked it--no, who was he kidding? He _really_ liked it. The others were like family at this point. Hell, he was pretty sure Time and Malon had adopted him, since he saw the Old Man with blueprints for an extension on the house, most of it underground. Two days after seeing the blueprints, Time told them that this was a family project and that everyone had a responsibility to help out, and that included digging out a space underneath the house. They’d need help with setting up plumbing and electricity, but that was an issue for later.

Warriors was just happy to have a place to call home.

He had his own money, now, too. He found he was no good at farm work, as Twilight had pointed out between bouts of hysterical laughter when Warriors slipped in the manure, so instead, he borrowed the truck and got a job at a cafe in the city. He had his own clothes, his own belongings, and now, he had his own weapons apart from a knife.

His favorite addition to his personal armory had to be the gatling gun.

“You really are a soldier,” Twilight mused when Warriors had gone to see the real power behind that thing. The wooden target was riddled with holes, and the adrenaline shoved a wide grin onto Warriors’s face.

“Eh, ex-soldier,” Warriors shrugged. “I was damn good at it, though.”

“So what happened?” Twilight asked, eyebrow raised, and not for the first time, Warriors wondered how he got the facial tattoos/fur collar look from the homey farmer couple that were his parents. “If you were so good at it, how’re ya here now?”

“Traitors,” Warriors said, his smile falling. “Got discharged for my wounds. Went into security.”

“And how’d ya get out of that?”

“Things didn’t work out.”

“That can’t be it.”

“Yeah, well, I could always ask about the stories behind those tattoos of yours,” Warriors shrugged, throwing Twilight an unamused grin. Twilight frowned and tensed. “We all have stories we’d rather not tell, and I can tell you have plenty.”

“If ya say so, city boy,” Twilight scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Shut it, country boy,” came the automatic response. They were silent for a moment. Then, Twilight huffed out a laugh and punched Warriors in the shoulder.

* * *

“Boys, we have a proposal. It looks like Warriors here has gotten us more attention from the rest of the criminal underground.”

“Great going, city boy.”

“It was inevitable, country boy. Don’t blame me.”

“Wait, a proposal? From who?”

“The Red Lions.”

“The Red Lions? What do they want from us?”

“A meeting. They want to see us at a warehouse in Zora’s Domain in three days.”

“The beaches, huh?”

“Then let’s come up with a plan.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next gen crew, Malachi, and Fanboy have stolen my braincells. Sorry about this late update. Life will be getting busy soon, so I have no promises about future updates, but I will do my best to keep this going. Thank you all so much for reading <3


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